


Never Said

by ice_hot_13



Category: The Following
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:12:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are so many things they've never said. (spoilers for ep. 9)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Said

  


He’s seen Paul hold back so many things he wants to say; Jacob used to wonder if Paul had no idea that Jacob could _see_ it, all the things he wasn’t saying, clearly in his eyes.

Maybe Paul thinks he has secrets, doesn’t know if Jacob can see them all word for word on his face. Maybe he’s waiting for Jacob to say it’d be okay, to say all those things out loud. Maybe Paul can’t help it, maybe he hides these things from Jacob as best he can, and can never manage to keep it off his face.

 

(“I _can’t,”_ Jacob says, and he’s falling apart and Paul’s just watching him and Jacob can’t look, sure Paul’s going to mock him because Emma would, everyone would, because Jacob’s never killed anyone, and he doesn’t think he ever could.

“It’s okay, Jacob,” Paul reaches for him, lets Jacob sob against his neck, for this fucked-up place he’s ended up, where he can’t kill someone and feels so much shame.

“I just can’t. Don’t - don’t tell Emma, just - please, please-” he begs. Paul promises he won’t, says he won’t because he likes Jacob, won’t do that to him, and Jacob sits there wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeve, sniffling.

“You must think I’m a failure,” Jacob finally says. “Because I can’t - can’t do it.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to do it one day,” Paul says.

His eyes say _I like that you can’t._ Jacob waits, but Paul never says it out loud).

 

He doesn’t want to have ended up here - but he does, he _does,_ just - just not like this. He doesn’t care what he’s gone through, he just doesn’t want to be _here,_ with blood seeping through the bandage on Paul’s stomach and his breathing getting progressively weaker; Jacob wishes this could have somehow ended in that house. He doesn’t want to be in his mother’s house, he wants to be in _their_ living room, on the couch where Paul kissed him. He misses that room so much, sometimes will just close his eyes and pretend he’s back there. Now, he’s just sitting on the floor, cheek against Paul’s arm, eyes closed, and the scent of Paul’s skin is so familiar, he could almost be back there. In that living room, where Paul insisted on dusting the top shelves even though no one could even see them, where Paul stood at the window with his coffee in the morning and after a while Jacob was brave enough to come up and hug him from behind and press his cheek to the back of Paul’s shoulder, where Jacob got to sprawl out on the couch when he had the flu and Paul kissed his forehead and stayed home from work to baby him and tell him to only take small sips of water, where Paul kissed him and Jacob was in for good.

He just doesn’t want to be here like this, his eyes red from crying, Paul weakly rubbing his thumb along Jacob’s collarbone, like he wants to remember every last contour of Jacob’s body, because he’s going to miss it.

 

(“Why do you even want to _go?”_ Jacob whines. He’s sprawled out on the bed in his nice dress shirt, rebelling because he couldn’t find his pants on the first try.

“I don’t know. Everyone goes,” Paul calls over from the closet.

“You could say we’re going away for Christmas! They’ll believe that, just say that your husband really wanted to go to Hawaii, and he whined until you said okay, you’d miss the company holiday party.”

“Tell them that?” Paul comes over, Jacob’s pants in hand; they must have been in the other drawer. Jacob was too lazy to walk over and look. “You _want_ me to tell them about you?”

“Uh?” Jacob makes grabby hands towards his pants, but Paul doesn’t even notice.

“Why don’t you want to go?”

“I don’t not,” Jacob sighs, “I’m lazy. But I’m sure it’ll be okay. Protect me from socialising, okay?”

“I thought - you wouldn’t want to go because - you know, you’re going to be like - showing up as my husband.”

“Well, that’s what I am,” Jacob says. Paul looks at him. “I mean, you know. Whatever this is, I’m that. I know it’s not real, but. You know.”

“Yeah,” Paul says. Jacob’s alarmingly sure that the look on Paul’s face says _some of it’s real,_ but all Paul does is hand Jacob his pants and smile like there was never something so sad on his face)

 

He keeps calling Emma, because it’s the only thing he can do. He knows that _nothing_ she or anyone else can do will help them. Everything they can do doesn’t matter, because they can’t help Paul, and Jacob doesn’t want anything else. But in all this helplessness, it’s the only thing that he really has, all he can do. He leaves pleading messages, because he wants to beg _anyone,_ because it’s all he has left, pleading and begging _save him save us please please please._

He doesn’t phone her in front of Paul, but he knows Paul can tell exactly when he’s called. Jacob comes back into the room after calling, sinks down to sit in his spot beside the couch.

“Can I do anything?” Jacob asks, a plea still left in his voice as he strokes Paul’s cheek gently. The only time Paul seems even a little okay is when Jacob lets himself follow through with every impulse, so he doesn’t stop himself from skimming his thumb along Paul’s jaw.

“Jacob,” Paul says, and no one says Jacob’s name quite like he does. “There’s nothing they can do.”

“But why shouldn’t I call?” Jacob begs. “What if - if-”

“It hurts to see you hopeful,” Paul says, so quiet. “Because there’s nothing to be hopeful about.”

Jacob turns his face against Paul’s shoulder to hide his tears, but from how gently Paul touches his hair, Jacob knows Paul can tell anyways.

“I’ve never been hopeful about anything before,” Jacob mumbles senselessly, “I’ve been saving it up all my life, and I need to be hopeful about this.”

“Jacob,” Paul whispers.

“What about you? Did you use up all yours?” He knows he’s making no sense, sobbing so hard he’s barely coherent.

“Yeah,” Paul says, so quiet and faint, “I used it all up hoping for you. It’s okay, Jacob, it was worth it.”

It’s nearly three in the morning. Jacob remembers thinking _I hope he lets me have the left side of the bed,_ the first time they went to their bedroom in that house he misses so much. He feels like if he’d just accepted that he didn’t hope for that, just known he wanted Paul to pull him close and fall asleep nearly on top of him, if he just didn’t use up some of his precious hope on that, he would have enough now. Just that little bit more of hope, and he’d have enough to save Paul.

 

(“This doesn’t count,” Jacob says, but he says it against Paul’s lips, already kissing him again, again.

“Count?” Paul asks, like he’s delirious over this, can’t follow what Jacob’s saying because he’s leaning in to kiss Jacob again.

“This. It’s- I’m not - we’re not - you’re not- we can do this and be fine.”

“Okay,” Paul says. His eyes say _I can’t,_ but he kisses Jacob anyways).

 

This is the end. Jacob’s already sobbing, but Paul’s telling him _no, it’s okay, I want my life to have meaning_ and Jacob has so many things to tell him, but he can’t because he’s about to lose _so much._ He’s too late, always realising things too late.

“You can do it,” Paul says; he’s nearly inaudible now, so weak. Jacob feels like he’s been crying nonstop for days. He can’t - he can’t lose Paul, Paul can’t be _dying,_ can’t be asking Jacob to - to do this, how can Jacob _do this?_ Paul’s looking at him the way he always does; his eyes say _I love you,_ and Jacob has never been brave enough to ask him to say it aloud, to make this theirs.

“I love you,” Paul whispers, and Jacob’s heart finally breaks, this more than he can handle. This- this is the first time Paul’s ever told him _everything,_ it’sthe first and it’s the last, and what if Jacob had asked him to, years ago? What if the first time he saw this look on Paul’s face, he’d said these words for Paul, would they have escaped this, somehow? Maybe they’re only here because Jacob is a coward, worse than that because he put fear in Paul too, made him too afraid to ever tell Jacob this.

He has to do it himself. Paul grabs at him like he’s pleading, like he changed his mind, and then - then Paul goes still. All Jacob can do is sob, and he presses a slow kiss to Paul’s hair, breathes him in one last time.

Maybe Paul was always waiting for Jacob to say _tell me,_ and because Jacob was always too afraid, all he has left are the words Paul never told him. Jacob will never know what they sound like, in Paul’s voice, and he clings to Paul’s _I love you,_ this the last thing he will ever hear from the love of his life. Jacob never told him; he can only hope that Paul died knowing that Jacob loves him so, so much.

Jacob just - wishes he was sure. There’s just so much they never said.


End file.
